


Ice Castle

by bluebacchus



Series: The Chili's Anniversary Collection [3]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: AU - Chili's, All within the sacred confines of marriage, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Comfort Sex, M/M, Rimming, Thoughts about death in a medical setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:46:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22904938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebacchus/pseuds/bluebacchus
Summary: Edward doesn’t know how to take care of himself, but Jopson does.Fill for my square “comfort sex” in The Terror Bingo! Set in the same AU as Chili's Fic.
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Series: The Chili's Anniversary Collection [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676683
Comments: 16
Kudos: 56
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	Ice Castle

**Author's Note:**

> This is set about a year after the events of “Love in the Time of Chili’s $5 Margaritas,” making it six months after Little and Jopson get married (spoilers?). I had meant to finish it for Little's birthday (back in December yikes) but it's still winter so I'll take that as a victory. 
> 
> If you're not keen on the Chili's universe, just know that Edward is a doctor in an A&E/ED and Thomas is a part of the hospital’s HR department. They are in love. They have gotten married. 
> 
> It started as pure PWP and became a 1500 word rumination on death followed by another 1500 words of smut. If you're only here for the ruminations on death, stop halfway. If you're only here for the banging, start halfway through.

By all accounts, he should be used to it by now. Losing patients is part of the job. Edward knows this; people die all the time. People die from traumatic injuries, just like people die from long, slow diseases and from suddenly contracted maladies that bring about a swift and shocking decline. His problem is not with death, nor is it a feeling of inadequacy. Death is inevitable, and while it was something he struggled with during his first residency, Edward has accepted that he cannot save everyone. Some of them, yes, but not all of them.

It was never the dead he pitied; it was the ones left behind. The wailing of the mothers who had just lost a child, the sobbing of the children who watched their parent succumb to the slow rot of cancer. Or, like tonight, the pleading of a lover who watched her partner slip away after a failed resuscitation attempt. Something about it- whether it was the utter randomness of which vehicle happened to slip on an icy patch on the road or the despair of the survivor as she called her mum and sobbed into the phone- bothered Edward in a way that most of the deaths he declared did not.

Doctor Blanky and Doctor MacDonald, being the empathetic men they were, took him aside immediately after he emerged from the trauma room, scrubs soaked through with sweat and blood.

“How was it?” Blanky asked. To anyone else, he would have sounded coarse and uncaring, but the brusqueness was something Edward had gotten used to as Blanky’s student and grew to appreciate as his peer.

“Not good,” Edward said, stripping his top off and throwing it in the bag for contaminated laundry.

“Need to take a break?” Blanky said it more like a statement than a question. “Me ‘n Alex can handle it. It’s only four hours or so until Silna comes in.”

Edward shook his head while checking his undershirt for any blood that soaked through. It was Thomas’s shirt, really, but one of the many that Edward had taken to stealing out of the laundry and wearing to work. It was comforting to carry Thomas’s scent with him when he went about his day, especially on days like this. He tugged it over his head, if only to let the Thomas-scented fabric drag over his face.

“You got a spot on your chest,” Blanky said, pointing to a red mark just above Edward’s left nipple. At first he thought it was a love bite, courtesy of Thomas, but he accepted the alcohol swab from MacDonald and swiped away what turned out to be a spot of blood, filtered through his scrubs and the t-shirt underneath. Unfolding Thomas’s shirt, Edward found the offending spot where it stained the white stars of the “T-Rex” logo red. If he had still been wearing it, it would sit right over his heart. If _Thomas_ had been wearing it, it would sit right over _his_ heart.

Suddenly, the body in the trauma room was no longer a stranger. In his mind, he saw Thomas laying there, broken ribs and a severed spinal cord, and Edward was intubating him but at the same time he was the victim’s partner, watching a team of strangers circling around the unmoving body, stabbing him with needles and shoving tubes down his throat.

MacDonald caught him before he hit the floor, sliding back against the lockers as he clutched Thomas’s blood-stained shirt to his bare chest. In his state of panic, Edward didn’t see the look MacDonald and Blanky exchanged. MacDonald knelt down gently next to him and said,

“Stephen will cover your shift tomorrow. I’ll make you an appointment with Harry for the weekend and we’ll go from there, alright?” MacDonald smiled at him, eyes full of warmth and concern.

“I’ll be alright,” Edward protested weakly. He looked down at his white knuckles where they clutched the shirt like a lifeline and forced his hands to relax.

“Go home and kiss your husband, Doctor Jopson,” Blanky said sternly, tossing one of his extra shirts at Edward. It landed on his head and stayed there until Edward shook it off.

“Why do you have a Carly Rae Jepsen t-shirt?” Edward asked. The need to know overwhelmed his feelings of panic and despair. He wondered if it was Blanky’s plan all along.

“Francis’s darkest secret is his love for Miss Jepsen. Had to convince James’s niece to come with us so we didn’t look like a pair of creeps in the front row of her last show.” Edward nodded, though he still didn’t understand why Blanky had the shirt if ‘Call Me Maybe’ was Francis’s guilty pleasure.

MacDonald must have been in a similar state of confusion, but he hid it well. “Come on, Doctor. Let’s see if George can drive you home.”

* * *

Hodgson did drive him home in his little green VW Bug, dropping him off at his flat with a wave, a cheerful smile, and a fun fact about nuns possessed by demons in 16th century France. It was only coming up on three in the afternoon, so Edward let himself in, had a long shower (in which he cried), drank a cup of tea (into which he cried), and used the Tom Jopson Method ™ of comforting himself; he pulled out Tom’s hidden collection of Muppet movies and pushed A Muppet Christmas Carol into their ridiculously old VCR.

Tom got back just after the movie finished rewinding and Edward had stashed it back inside the storage ottoman.

“What a surprise!” Tom exclaimed. He hung his bag up on the coat rack and toed off his shoes before bounding over to the sofa and flopping down into Edward’s lap. “Has Doctor Jopson returned home early to ravish his husband before dinner?” Edward grinned despite himself, like he did every time he was reminded that he and Tom were married.

“I wish Doctor Blanky prescribed me a good ravishing,” Edward said, drawing Thomas in for a kiss. Thomas’s lips were cold from his walk from the station and once again, the unbidden image of Thomas lying dead on the resuscitation table flashed behind Edward’s eyes like lightning. He pulled back, blinking the image away. When his eyes refocused on Thomas- alive, cheeks pink from the cold and still wearing his coat- he was met with a look of concern that fell over Thomas’s face.

“Bad day?” he asked tentatively. Edward nodded, opening his arms and letting his husband fall into them. “What happened?”

“Someone died.”

Tom reached up to stroke Edward’s cheek. “Oh, Ned. You can’t save everyone. It’s not your fault.”

He didn’t blame himself, not really, but Thomas’s words were still a great comfort to hear.

“Something about it,” he started, trying to explain why this death in particular affected him so much more than others, “made me think about you. About losing you. And I had a panic attack in the break room because I got blood on your shirt.”

“ _My_ shirt?”

Edward nodded, embarrassed. “I’ve been wearing them under my scrubs. To keep you close.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, still slightly damp from his shower. “Maybe a breakdown was a long time coming.”

Tom shifted until he was leaning against the armrest with Edward’s head resting against his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Edward shut his eyes. Images from the A&E flooded his mind, each one lingering before the next replaced it, as if on a film reel: vehicle collisions; random attacks of violence; structure fires; the images kept coming.

“Life is so fragile,” Edward whispered against the steady thump of Thomas’s heart. Thomas held him quietly, arms wrapped tight around him.

After a while, Thomas said quietly, “No, Ned. It’s not.”

When he received no answer from Edward, face still buried against Thomas’s chest, he continued.

“You see your patients when they’re at their worst, then you send them up to ICU or CCU or off to surgery, and that’s it. That’s the end of your relationship with them. All you know is that they’re in critical condition and might not survive. Me? Over in HR, we get the thank you calls. Well, Tommy Hartnell answers them now, but he tells us about the big ones. We get emails, we get phone calls, we get flowers and visits and chocolates from people that survived thanks to you and Dr. Blanky and George and Harry and everyone else. If something ever happened to me, I know I’d be in good hands.”

Edward got up then, pushing at Thomas’s chest and raising himself so he was straddling Thomas’s hips.

“I’m being stupid about this, aren’t I?”

“A little bit,” Thomas said. He trailed his fingertips up Edward’s thighs until his hands found purchase on Edward’s arse. With a squeeze of his hands and a suggestive quirk of his lips, he added, “Do you want me to remind you just how alive I am?”

“Please,” Edward breathed, and he stood, holding out a hand to his husband and leading him to their bedroom.

* * *

They left the lights on.

The last rays of the setting sun had disappeared behind the ravine that stood stark against the fading colours of the horizon; it wasn’t yet evening, but it was December, and the sun set far too early for Edward’s liking.

“I want to see you,” Edward said, perhaps a little too desperately, when Thomas bypassed the light switch to shrug off his blazer and hang it up in the closet.

“Yes,” he said, and Edward flicked the lights on. He usually preferred the soft glow of the twin bedside lamps when they had sex. The yellow light turned Thomas’s skin a soft gold, and the contours of his body and the dark hair that led from his chest, over his stomach, and to his groin were stark contrasts to the places where Edward wanted to touch.

Now, there were no such contrasts. He watched in awe as Thomas shed his clothes in the light, folding his trousers over the back of his designated armchair (the one with the blue throw blanket; it matched his eyes) and leaving his pants on the ground.

“Let me take care of you, Ned,” Thomas whispered. Edward nodded. He was pushed back against the pillows as Thomas crawled over him, slowly peeling off his clothes and kissing him deeply between each article of clothing disposed of, lost somewhere over the edge of the bed.

Thomas sat back on his heels, tapping his lip. “How shall I pleasure you today, I wonder?” Edward squirmed in anticipation, abandoning all illusions of patience. Thomas leaned down to nibble at Edward’s earlobe. His thigh brushed against Edward’s cock, and Edward hummed appreciatively. He could get off like that; rutting against Thomas’s thigh like a dog in heat. Thomas, of course, had a different idea.

“I could get on my knees and suck your cock. Look up at you through my eyelashes as I swallow all you have to give. You would like that, wouldn’t you, love?” As if to demonstrate, Thomas slid down so his head was level with Edward’s chest and he lowered his eyes demurely, glancing up with those bright blue eyes through his dark eyelashes.

Edward made a helpless, strangled sound.

“Or, perhaps I could ride you. Tie you down and stretch myself while you watched, then get nice and wet and impale myself on that delicious cock…”

“Christ, Tom, _enough!_ ” Edward laughed. “We’ll be here all night with your lurid fantasies.”

Thomas grinned, sliding up the length of Edward’s body to kiss him again.

“I did promise to take care of my beloved husband.”

Edward nodded sagely. “You did. I’m in need of urgent care.”

“I think I know a fitting treatment.”

Five minutes later, Edward had a leg over each of Thomas’s shoulders and Tom’s tongue in his arse.

“Please,” Edward gasped, “Tom, _please._ I need you. I need to feel you inside me.” He squeezed his eyes shut, a pair of tears rolling out his left eye and down to his temple. Edward’s legs were shaking where they rested on either side of Thomas’s head; he doubted he could move them far enough to change position. Instead he gave himself over to the feel of Thomas’s tongue against him, warm and smooth as it stroked over the sensitive skin that surrounded his entrance. He carried on like this despite Edward’s pleas and the tightened grip on his hair. Thomas would stop every so often, nibbling up the inside of a thigh to take Edward’s cock in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head and then massaging the underside with a soft rolling motion that pushed the tip against the hard roof of his mouth. It felt _divine,_ and just when Edward’s panting sped up and he was about to spend, the other man would return his attentions to his hole, leaving Edward’s cock neglected, leaking, and exposed to the chill in the air.

It was maddening, but it felt all the more satisfying when Thomas pulled away, slicked himself up, and pushed into Edward.

“Oh, you _wicked, wicked_ devil,” Edward moaned as he was filled, inch by inch.

When the front of Thomas’s hips met the back of Edward’s thighs, he leaned down to rest his forehead on Edward’s shoulder. “Is that what I am?” he asked, laughing.

Edward screwed his eyes up tightly as Thomas began to move. “No, no,” he gasped. “You’re lovely. I love you. _Ah,_ I love you.”

Thomas bent him nearly in half to lean down and kiss him quickly-- just a peck on the lips-- before he returned to his favoured position, kneeling between Edward’s thighs and fucking him in deep, even thrusts.

By this point, all Edward could do was grip Thomas’s arm and let the pleasure wash over him. His vision was going blurry around the edges, and all he had to anchor himself to reality was the feel of Thomas’s skin under his fingers. With each thrust, Thomas brushed against that spot inside him, and Edward was helpless to say anything but _yes, Tom_ , over and over between breathy pants and low moans. As he began to see stars, Edward tried to choke out an “I’m close, please don’t stop,” but his orgasm hit him suddenly and all he could do was scream.

* * *

“I don’t think I’ve ever made you scream before,” Tom said, once they had both caught their breath and pulled the soiled blankets out from underneath them.

“No,” Edward mused. “And they say your sex life stagnates after marriage.”

“They’ll have to do a new study on us.”

“Absolutely not,” Edward said firmly. “Two people are enough for one bedroom.”

“Except that one time with Sol Tozer,” Tom reminded him.

“That… yeah. That was alright. Three people are acceptable, but only every once in a while.”

Thomas hummed and snuggled closer to his husband. The chill in the air was beginning to cool the sweat on their naked bodies, and Edward could feel goose bumps rise on his arms.

“Nap?” he said.

“Tea first,” Tom said, booping Edward on the nose with a finger and rolling out of bed. Edward could hear his bare feet pad around the kitchen. The sound of water running to fill the kettle and the opening and closing of the refrigerator filled Edward with a deep contentment. He reached down near his feet for the rest of the blankets, making the bed as best he could while refusing to get out of it.

“I have tomorrow off,” Edward said, once he was tucked under the covers and Tom had returned carrying two cups of tea and a slice of ice cream cake with two spoons.

“We can celebrate your birthday on the actual day!? Like real people who don’t work shifts!?” Thomas handed Edward a spoon and offered the plate of melting ice cream to him.

“I have the whole week off. I need to be cleared by Harry before I can go back. It’s not a good thing, Tom.”

Thomas pulled the plate away before Edward could scoop up any ice cream.

“Don’t, Ned. You said yourself this was a long time coming. It’s not a personal failure to take time off for your own mental health.”

“But-“

“I’m withholding birthday cake until you accept that your depression makes you more susceptible to stress, and while I feel that as your dearly devoted husband, I should have noticed, you also should have come to me and told me how you were feeling.”

Edward nodded, looking miserably pathetic. “I love you.”

The cake was placed in front of him again. This time, he scooped up a spoonful of cookie crumbs and chocolate ice cream and brought it to his mouth. The sweetness of the ice cream was nothing compared to the fond look on Tom’s face as he watched him eat his birthday cake.

“Let’s go out tomorrow,” Thomas said. “We can go see the ice castles. Then maybe we can go see Doctor Goodsir together.”

“Yeah,” Edward said. “I-“ he stopped, unsure of what to say next. But Thomas was as intuitive as ever, and said, “me too,” before curling up into Edward’s side and falling into a post-coital doze. Placing the empty plate on the nightstand next to him, Edward sunk down into the pillows and made a silent promise to never make Thomas worry about him again.

* * *

The ice castles glistened in the winter sun but Edward couldn’t take his eyes off the man standing next to him. Edward reached down and squeezed Thomas’s hand. Through the wool of his mittens and the leather gloves that Thomas wore he could barely feel the gold band that circled Thomas’s fourth finger, but he knew it was there. He had slid it on Thomas’s finger himself this morning, an imitation of their wedding day six months earlier that had not yet lost its thrill.

“Shall we?” Thomas asked. His breath made white clouds in the cold despite the sun, high in the clear sky above them and making the winter landscape sparkle. Edward nodded, smiling.

Hand in hand, they walked down the salted path that led to the towering, crystal structures that lay in front of them.


End file.
